I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

x

467

We do not play on Graves—
Because there isn’t Room—
Besides—it isn’t even—it slants
And People come—

And put a Flower on it—
And hang their faces so—
We’re fearing that their Hearts will drop—
And crush our pretty play—

And so we move as far
As Enemies—away—
Just looking round to see how far
It is—Occasionally—

I see the water, light penetrates
deep in to the abyss. Lost in
the darkness, sinking
ever deeper as my eyes
glance the shards of light
wanting to climb these steps
to the surface but grasp  on
to liquid just shadows
a trick in my mind.

My lungs pray for air, but
are betrayed by breath that is
liquid death, as it fills I panic
for a moment then I am at peace.
No fighting as I would only hasten
my demise in this coffin of water.

I am alone as I move no more, as
my life leaves me, I fall asleep never
to be woken to sleep in this my watery grave.